The Silent One
by White Fairy Writer
Summary: Carol considers her place in the group, and why she has to stay silent.


_**I own nothing related to The Walking dead. This is just for fun and entertainment to those who read it.**_

_**~(0)~**_

Carol never thought the world could go this crazy. Sure, she knew about all the riots the earth had put up with, all the violence and insanity. But _this_? She had never thought it could be this terrible.

She had put up with a lot of abuse over the years, the abuse from her husband being the biggest neon sign of it in her life. But she had had Sophia, and that had made things bearable.

But now...her baby was gone.

It was surreal, and all too real at the same time. Still, she had to move forward, continue her life. She had friends in this strange new world, people she trusted with her life, who had _saved_ her life on more than one occasion. In this new world, people were stronger than her, did things she never dreamed of seeing.

In this new world, she didn't belong.

While Rick, Darryl, Shane, T-Dog, Glenn, even Andrea and Dale, and all the others could fight and protect the group, she couldn't. She was so damaged emotionally and mentally, she couldn't really fight back. Even when it was simply raising her voice in a group discussion, she was always afraid of retaliation. Ed had made sure she was weak.

So instead, she did what she had always done: She became a group housewife. She cooked, cleaned, helped, assisted everyone in any way, shape, or form she could. She made breakfast, lunch, and dinner, collected all the laundry, and tried her hardest to not be the burden she was.

Truthfully, it was tiresome.

But she _had_ to do it.

And that was why she had to stay quiet. The others risked their lives for _her_, the least she could do was keep her troubles to herself. There was no point in worrying the others, not when her problems were less important than the safety of everyone else.

So she woke up early, praying every morning to be given humility, honor, and the will to work even harder. Because even if she couldn't fight, she _could _be the domestic woman she was. Sure, anyone could do everything she did, but no one was as willing as her, who worked without complaint. It was something she had learned over the years, to be seen and silent, to never speak, even if it was the one thing your body was burning to do.

She learned to move like a shadow, silent and quick. She had been in everyone's life at some point, whether they realized it or not. Maybe it was just sitting silently with someone, never criticizing their choice or decision. Giving comfort, a smile. Being pleasant when everything had been blasted into smithereens. It was an immediate response, and was welcomed in their bloody new world. So she stayed quiet, doing what had to be done and twisting in and out of the others' lives...

The sun was up and Carol was at the edge of a lake they had found. A mound of clothes were beside her, and she sighed contentedly. _This was how it should be, _she mused. _Sunshine, blue skies, not a Walker in sight... _Carol turned her face to the sun, smiling. It was just perfect. She hummed to herself as she worked, all the shirts and pants and unmentionables slipping in and out of her hands as she worked. She had gotten breakfast out before she came here, a nice meal of grits and eggs, and she felt happy to have done something productive so far. That was something she could do for them, make breakfast. So she did.

And before that, she had taken all the guns.

It wasn't anything sneaky, she had just taken them. Her husband had been an avid gun enthusiast, and he knew how to shoot. Not that it had saved him in the end though...But afterwards, he had always made her clean the weapons for him.

"If ya won't even shoot 'em you better at least clean them." He had warned her, and of course she immediately learned how to do that. It was something she could do for her friends, so she did it. She cleaned them quickly, making them shine again after all the blood and guts they had had to endure.

And then she had returned them.

Of course, no one would have trusted her if they had caught her with them all, so she put them back in the trailer. Dale had told her so, after catching her doing it one time. He didn't want her to get in trouble, especially when all she was doing was helping. But if Shane ever found out she had taken his gun...she had better prepare a Last Will and Testament.

But now, now Shane was dead.

So was Dale...

Carol shook her head, coming back to the present. The water was calm in front of her, only rippling when she dunked the clothes in and out. It was nice out here, better than a lot of places they had to bunk down in. Carol continued to hum, feeling a lightness buoy up in her. Things had been so bad for so long...but it would get better. It had to, Rick would assure them of that. Carol sighed, she still didn't know if she trusted Rick or not.

But if Daryl did...

"Sometimes it takes dreaming." She sang quietly, filling the air with her soft song. "Sometimes it takes hoping, hoping for something you might find." A shirt came into her hands and she quickly washed it clean. "Maybe a world beyond your own. It takes a little strength, some bravery of your own. Sometimes you gotta learn to stand, to stand on your own. If the world comes crashing, well, I ain't going down." Her voice echoed in the air, rising and falling with kept emotions deep inside. "Sometimes you gotta know, you'll never be on you own. I'm by your side, whether the wind takes you away from me. We might seem alone, like we're left in an Arctic Zone. But you just gotta look, gotta look and see, there's still light, there's still life, and whether the darkness closes in, you'll always have me."

A moan jerked Carol out of her singing, and she rocketed to her feet.

The water was rippling on its own, and in horror Carol watched a Walker come out of the water. She was a little ways from camp, not too far, but she knew she'd never make it with the Walker so close to her. Carol scrambled from the water's edge, fighting the urge to scream. She couldn't, she'd just make the thing speed up in its haste to rip her to pieces. The creature had once been a young man, wearing a soaked plaid vest and black pants. His mottled skin was clean from his dip in the lake, and his creepy white eyes were staring right at her.

Carol gasped in horror as the thing came towards her, growling, snapping, and vicious.

"Please, oh Lord, please," Carol begged in a whisper. "Protect me." She pleaded, squeezing her eyes shut as she kept backing up. Suddenly there was a thud, and when Carol opened her eyes the Walker was on the ground, dead. An arrow was piercing out through its eye socket, sticking straight up towards the sky. Carol held a hand over her frantically beating heart, and sank to her knees in relief. She breathed in ragged breaths, knowing she had come face-to-face with Death again. Carol turned her eyes to the tree line, looking for her savior. She finally spotted him by a large tree, reloading his bow, 'just in case' as he always put it.

He nodded once at her, and she thankfully nodded back with a relieved smile. Daryl melded into the tree line again, and Carol was left looking around herself.

"It might be time to go back to camp." She murmured, grabbing all the clothes and making a beeline to safety.

She may not have been made for this zombie apocalyptic world, but Carol had a place there. Sure, she couldn't really shoot or fight, but she did everything else that she possibly could. She had friends, and she knew she would be alright.

Even if she was a burden or not.


End file.
